


newt/hermann prompt ficlets

by zach_stone



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:37:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: a collection of short newmann fics based on prompts sent to me on twitter!





	1. "thirty years have passed, and it still feels like yesterday" (rated G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from the most wonderful lex: ok i misread the “three years have passed” prompt as saying thirty so my prompt is “thirty years have passed, and it still feels like yesterday” (did i quote this correctly who knows) and also u can go uprising compliant if u want but pls dont make me sad looool
> 
> (prompts from [here!](http://shockvvaves.tumblr.com/post/162113131237/abstract-prompts))
> 
> this is tooth-rottingly fluffy so i hope u are sufficiently Not Sad xoxo
> 
> aaaand here's a song rec to go along with this fic's mood: [the luckiest by ben folds](https://open.spotify.com/track/1fujSajijBpJlr5mRGKHJN?si=1sbZtS7QRx2onxtir6DBog)

The box arrived in the mail and then sat conspicuously on the coffee table for five days before Newt finally allowed curiosity to overpower trepidation, and he opened it. It wasn’t a surprise — he knew what was inside, generally. His dad had called him some weeks ago saying he’d found a few of Newt’s things in a dresser and was going to be sending them over. Jacob and Illia were finally moving out of the little townhouse Newt had spent his childhood and early adulthood living in. Maybe that had been part of the reason why Newt was hesitant to open the box. It was letting go of the last shred of his youth, even though at fifty-three it mostly felt like a lifetime ago anyway. Whatever the reason, Newt felt compelled to wait until Hermann was out of the house before he finally cut through the tape and looked inside.

The contents of the box were something of a disappointment, really. Most of the good stuff from Newt’s childhood had been moved from his dad’s house to his own years ago, so these really were just random odds and ends. A flash drive shaped like Spongebob that likely had Newt’s old Star Trek fanfiction on it; the copy of his master’s thesis that had all of his committee’s handwritten notes; a handful of pins that included a trans flag, mothman, and (embarrassingly) one from Hot Topic that said “normal people scare me.” At the bottom of the box, however, was a photograph. A sticky note with his dad’s handwriting said, _thought you might want this_.

Newt peeled off the sticky note to reveal the photo. His breath caught, a surprised smile spreading across his face. It was a polaroid of Hermann  in his early twenties. He was sitting on a porch step, his elbows on his knees, face in profile as he stared out at something beyond the frame. There was a not-quite smile playing at his lips, a thoughtful look in his eye. His hair was slightly wind-tousled, a little shaggier than Hermann kept it in later years. Newt remembered this photo with perfect clarity. It had arrived in a letter from Hermann in early 2014, only a few months into their correspondence. Hermann had also sent a more professional snapshot of himself, lecturing at a podium and looking very serious. Of the polaroid, he’d written, _My sister insisted I include a second photo as well. She said something about it proving that I’m not actually a “stuffy old man.” Have I mentioned how lucky you are to be an only child?_

There was a hole in the top of the photo, where Newt had thumbtacked it to his headboard for the longest time. There was something about this version of Hermann that made him think of himself back then, the way he’d look at this picture and daydream about the future. Where they ended up is nothing like he fantasized then. Or maybe it was exactly as he’d imagined — he just couldn’t have predicted anything that happened in the middle.

He was still sitting on the couch with the photo in hand when Hermann came home from his brief trip to the bakery down the road, a paper bag of muffins in hand. Newt heard him open and shut the front door, the gentle clack of his cane against the wood floor in the entryway. His telltale huff and sigh as he took a moment to roll his shoulders and straighten his spine. A moment later Hermann wandered into the room, coming to stand behind Newt and peer over his shoulder.

“What’s that you’ve got, dear?” he asked, resting a hand on the back of the couch as he leaned in. He laughed when he saw the photo. “Oh, no.”

“It was in the box Dad sent me,” Newt explained, as Hermann came around to sit beside Newt on the couch, dropping the bag of muffins on the coffee table before kicking his feet up as well. Newt leaned against his side, allowing him to pluck the photo from his hand.

“Karla took this of me,” Hermann said, smoothing his thumb over the polaroid frame. “And she was _so_ insistent I send it to you, she threatened to mail it herself if I didn’t.” He laughed again, a slight flush pinking his cheeks. “She was always calling you my ‘American boy’ or my ‘young man.’ I think once she called you my ‘fella.’” He scrunched his nose in embarrassment.

Newt grinned, leaning over to kiss Hermann’s cheek. “I _am_ your fella,” he said.

“You are,” Hermann agreed fondly.

After a moment, Newt tapped the photo and said, “Y’know, I think this is when I really fell for you. After you sent this one.” He remembered the tight, funny feeling in his chest when he’d first seen it, a glimpse of this endlessly fascinating and brilliant man half the world away. They had both been so young then, and Newt realized suddenly that he had known Hermann now for longer than he _hadn’t_ known him. Even before they Drifted, they were so irrevocably shaped by each other at that point, their lives and pasts and personalities so intertwined, that Drifting had felt more like a formality than anything else. Newt’s throat constricted, the flood of affection almost enough to make him cry. (He was an easy crier, so sue him.)

“I don’t look much like this anymore, do I?” Hermann mused, oblivious to Newt’s emotional onslaught.

Hermann had more lines on his face these days, crow’s feet and laugh lines; his hair was finally starting to run through with grey (not as much as Newt’s, a fact Hermann was _very_ smug about). But there was still that same glint in his eyes, that same smirking upward curve to his mouth as he looked at Newt now. And Newt felt the same tight-chest feeling when he looked at Hermann now as he had when he’d pined over that photograph some thirty years ago.


	2. "just this once, the universe responds" (rated G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from my dear friend wen (and also an anon on curiouscat who might also have been wen?): "Just this once, the Universe responds."
> 
> (prompts from [here!](http://shockvvaves.tumblr.com/post/162113131237/abstract-prompts))
> 
> i'm not gonna lie to y'all, i really love this one personally. consider this yet another of my love letters to hermann gottlieb. 
> 
> song rec for this ficlet: [mercury by sleeping at last](https://open.spotify.com/track/3CZY55b05f682apPncuNHY?si=M0OFxNP7Rdec03wi3xGy6w)

When Hermann was very young, about four years old or so, he decided he was going to write a letter to send into outer space. He wrote carefully in his very best handwriting, folded the paper into an envelope, and tied it to a balloon that he released in his backyard. His hope was that beings from another galaxy, or maybe just a lonely astronaut, would come across his message and float one down to him in return. Even as young as he was, Hermann  _ yearned  _ for something to which he could not put a name, to which he believed this letter would be an answer. 

Of course, Hermann’s father was quick to squash any dreams Hermann had of an interstellar penpal; Lars Gottlieb told him that the balloon would never even make it out of Earth’s atmosphere, and would just deflate and become litter somewhere, and  _ really, Hermann, you shouldn’t be so wasteful. _ For some time afterwards, Hermann held out hope anyway. But he never received a reply, and eventually he stopped searching the sky for one. 

As the years passed, Hermann still yearned for something, but he buried it deep and kept his head down, threw himself into his studies and never once admitted that what drew him to physics and numbers was the idea that by breaking down the universe to its most basic components, he could find the answer to anything — even his loneliness. He was once again sending a little piece of himself into the heavens, wordless questions that the stars, in silent reproach, did not answer.  

On August 10, 2013, a beast from the depths of the Pacific Ocean rampaged through San Francisco, and the world was forced to reconsider its place in the universe. Hermann’s lifelong conviction that they were not alone was finally confirmed.

He found less comfort in this fact than he had hoped. 

 

Humanity was scrambling for understanding in the wake of this monster, and Hermann had always been very good at finding answers. He devoured every thinkpiece, every analysis and essay and webcam-quality theory video. He found the holes and flaws in every one and did his best to fill the gaps. He wrote three articles with theories of his own in the months that followed, and as the world around him started to settle back into complacency, Hermann steeled himself for whatever would come next. 

It was during one of his late-night Google searches that he found the video. A young man, around Hermann’s age, talking in a high, scratchy voice at top speed and top volume, gesturing wildly as he explained his theories on wormholes and space-bending that may have brought this creature from across the universe to Earth’s front door. He mentioned  _ A Wrinkle In Time  _ several times. He’d captioned the video himself. The description said his name was Newt Geiszler. 

It took very little searching to find out that Geiszler was a doctor several times over, a professor at MIT, and some seven months younger than Hermann. He had published several papers with theories of his own about the mysterious beast from the ocean. 

Hermann stayed up all night and read every one. By sunrise, his heart was pounding with something like exhilaration, and he had onscreen the address to Dr. Newton Geiszler’s P.O. box at MIT. He had a pen in hand before he’d even thought much of it. 

 

_ Dear Dr. Geiszler, _

_ My name is Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. I am writing to you because I believe we have much in common, both in our interest in the monster from San Francisco and our theories on its origins….  _

 

He filled two pages. Dr. Geiszler’s email address was listed on his faculty page, but — there was something to the practice of putting the pen to paper. Of sealing it away in an envelope where he couldn’t look back on it and fret over what he might’ve worded differently. Of dropping it into the mailbox and sending it off across an ocean, to a man who might not even read it. Hermann was not an impulsive person; he was not prone to rash decisions or making himself vulnerable. But the four-year-old boy who had fervently believed that a balloon could reach an astronaut still lived in the corners of Hermann’s heart, and he had never stopped waiting for that reply. Maybe he had become himself the lonely astronaut. Maybe this letter was nothing but a catharsis twenty-one years overdue. Maybe. Hermann tried not to overthink it when he put the envelope in the mailbox later that day, and yet — he hoped. 

Two weeks later, he received a letter from Dr. Newton Geiszler. 


	3. "the taste of sunlight" (rated G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from @k_sci_janitor on twitter: "the taste of sunlight" ([prompts from here](http://shockvvaves.tumblr.com/post/162113131237/abstract-prompts)) 
> 
> this one got perhaps a little abstract in its interpretation, but i guess that is the point of these. anyway! enjoy some pre-canon newmann fluff!!
> 
> and here's a lil song rec: [maybe a love song by nataly dawn](https://open.spotify.com/track/5q02LqsNXPd0G0bs0rZOVY?si=UVxjDWc1QSKaNSzyoKdK7w)

“Would you quit dragging your feet — come _on_ , Hermann.”

“I don’t see what could possibly be so exciting on the roof.”

Newt scoffed, turning around in the stairwell to glower at Hermann. “Would you just trust me for once? Sheesh.” He turned back around and jogged up the last couple of steps to the door leading out onto the roof. Hermann followed behind at a now deliberately slow pace, just to watch Newt fidget impatiently. When he finally reached the top of the stairs, Newt rolled his eyes before shoving the door open.

Hermann was momentarily blinded, staggering out onto the roof as Newt bounded forward, flinging his arms out wide. “Look at that, man! The sun has returned!”

They’d been in what felt like a never-ending bought of overcast, rainy days for nearly two weeks now. Not that either Hermann or Newt left the confines of the lab very often anyway, but on the rare occasion that they ventured into the city for a meal, or when Newt got too restless and wandered the little shops to bring back silly trinkets to scatter around the lab, the rain had been a literal damper on the mood.

Now, as Hermann’s eyes adjusted, he could see that the sky was a cheery blue, and he could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. He smiled privately as he watched Newt stand in the middle of the roof, his face tilted up, eyes closed. Then Newt looked Hermann’s way, and Hermann quickly averted his eyes. When he chanced a glance at Newt again, he caught a flash of a smug grin before Newt was yanking his sweatshirt up over his head and flinging it to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Hermann squawked indignantly. Newt was now just wearing a T-shirt, soft blue material with the logo for some UFO-themed restaurant across the chest. His tattooed arms were on full display, and he flexed them teasingly.

“C’mon, Hermann, you know what they say — sun’s out, guns out.” He gestured to Hermann’s usual three layers (button-up, sweater vest, blazer) and added, “You could stand to lose a layer or two, you probably have a vitamin D deficiency at this point.”

Hermann sniffed. “I don’t believe either of us has any ‘guns’ to speak of.”

Newt dropped his arms, sheepish. “Rude, but fair enough.” His expression turned mischievous again. “Well, there is another saying: sun’s out, _buns_ —”

“Absolutely not.” Hermann shuffled abruptly past Newt to stand by the short wall surrounding the roof’s edge, hoping Newt hadn’t seen that he was blushing. A moment later, Newt sidled up beside him, folding his arms on the wall and looking out at the ocean.

“It is nice though, right?” Newt asked. His voice was quieter. He sounded almost nervous.

“It is,” Hermann agreed. He looked at Newt out of the corner of his eye, and offered a faint smile. “It’s a lovely day.”

“Yeah.” Newt smiled back, and then returned his gaze to the water.

Hermann took advantage of the moment to really look at him. Freckles dusted his cheeks and forehead; his eyes, half-lidded and unfocused as his mind inevitably wandered, were bright and peaceful behind his glasses. Hermann’s chest swelled with a feeling he did not let himself name, and he didn’t realize that he’d been caught staring again until he felt the tentative touch of Newt’s hand brushing against his. He looked down at the wall, where Newt’s pinky and ring fingers rested on top of Hermann’s.

“Is this okay?” Newt asked, definitely nervous now.

Hermann shifted his hand under Newt’s, flipping palm-up so he could lace their fingers together. “Yes,” he said softly. “It’s more than okay.”

Newt was gazing at him with open affection, and in a fit of boldness (and no longer quite so fearful of rejection) Hermann leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Newt’s skin was warm from the sun under Hermann’s lips. He lingered, just a moment, before pulling back. Newt’s face was pink, and Hermann suspected his own was, too.

“I’m glad we came up here, Newton,” Hermann said. Newt laughed, giddy and infectious, and rested his head against Hermann’s shoulder. The sunlight glinted off the waves.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @hermanngottiieb


End file.
